The Christmas Card
by RL74
Summary: Edith Crawley is a journalist and confirmed singleton, Living and working in London. Anthony Strallan is a widower, also living in London, trying to run a small architecture business and keep tabs on his family's estate in North Yorkshire. Neither knows each other until a Christmas card, delivered 50 years after it was posted, arrives at Edith's flat...


The Christmas Card

A/N Yes, I know I'm very early with a Christmas story but this has been running around my head and I wanted to make a start on it before I forgot what the idea was! Anyway, just a short introductory chapter to get things rolling.

"And that was the news at midnight. We now hand you over to our colleagues at the BBC World Service. Good Morning London will be back on the air at 6 am tomorrow morning. From all of us at BBC London, we bid you goodnight."

Edith Crawley brought down the fader on her microphone, took off her headphones, yawned and stretched.

"Thanks, Edith. Great job tonight", said Bob, the late-night producer.  
"Thanks, Bob. That was really fun," replied Edith.  
"Are you heading home for Christmas now?"  
"Oh yes, back to the family. I'm back on air on January 2nd."  
"Well, you have a nice break and I'll see you then."  
"Thanks, Bob, you too. Goodnight"

Edith gathered her things and waiting in the reception area of the radio station for her taxi home. At 26, she was BBC London's newest cub reporter and rising star, if listener feedback was to be believed.  
With a Master's Degree in Broadcast Journalism under her belt, Edith had started working for BBC London in the summer and she was loving every minute of it.

Edith sighed as she thought of the next few interminable days back at Downton. Her family had never really understood her and most definitely did not understand her career choice. Indeed, she thought her father was going to have a stroke when she told him she had accepted a place on a Journalism course, rather than the law, like everyone else since time immemorial in the Crawley family.

She tried not to think about her 'superstar' Barrister sister, Mary, who not only had the high-flying career, but the equally high-flying barrister husband to complete the set.

Edith had never had much success with men which was considered by her family to be another 'black mark' against her. Their thinking being that if you weren't married by 25 at the latest, then you were bound for a life of increasingly eccentric spinsterdom. It was excruciating.

The arrival of her taxi interrupted her dark thoughts and took her swiftly from the radio station, back to her little flat in Brixton.

XXXXX

"And that was the news at midnight. We now hand you over to our colleagues at the BBC World Service. Good Morning London will be back on the air at 6 am tomorrow morning. From all of us at BBC London, we bid you goodnight."

Anthony Strallan turned off the small radio that he kept on his bedside table. He really did like Edith Crawley's delivery of the news and the investigative pieces that he had heard her present were really top-notch. She had the increasingly rare ability just to present the information, without trying to insert herself into the narrative or present any particular bias. It was refreshing, he thought.

Sighing to himself, he turned out the light and snuggled down. Anthony slept in the middle of his bed, had done since the death of his wife five years ago. He thought that at 47 and not being terribly successful with women other than his wife, there was no way anyone would ever sleep beside him again.

As per usual, when Anthony lay down to sleep, his mind sped up. He remembered what day it now was, Christmas Eve. This was the one time of year that his charismatic younger sister, Charlotte, insisted on a 'family get together', back at their ancestral home, Locksley, in North Yorkshire. Anthony had the house and the Baronetcy for almost 20 years now but lived full time in London, running a small architecture practice from his Townhouse in Belgravia. Locksley had a team of estate workers and an extremely competent Estate Manager, to keep her running smoothly.

The team at Locksley had been informed of the family's arrival on Christmas Eve and everything was prepared. Anthony would drive to Locksley on Christmas Eve and be back in London by early Boxing Day morning. Simple.

Anthony closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

XXXXXX  
Edith opened one eye and looked at her alarm clock. It was displaying a time that could not possibly be correct. 9:59 am. Edith's train to Downton was 11:30 am and the station was 30 minutes away.

"Aw bugger! I would sleep in today of all days! Mama will have my guts for garters if I miss this train!"

Edith sprang out of bed, took the world's quickest shower and whizzed around her flat like whirling dervish, collecting everything that she needed for the train north.

On her way out of the door, she noticed a pile of post sitting on her mat. Realising that she didn't have time to look at it now, she stuffed it into her handbag.

"I'll deal with that when I get on the train," she thought.

Forty minutes later, having dashed on to the train just as the doors were closing, Edith found her seat and let out a huge sigh of relief.

"Well, I made the train, that's the first hurdle out of the way." She thought.

Edith ordered a coffee and watched as the density of London gave way to suburbia and finally to greenery and open spaces.

Edith remembered the bundle of letters that she had hurriedly stuffed into her bag and brought them out.  
"Bills, bills, bills" she muttered.

Hang on tho', what is this and wait a minute, does that postmark say 1969?! Not quite believing her eyes, Edith gingerly opened the envelope, to reveal a beautiful, vintage (by current standards anyway) Christmas Card. Inside the inscription read:

Dec 18th, 1969

"To my dearest Eliza,

All of the compliments of the season to you.

With warmest regards,

Sir Philip and Lady Anne Strallan.

Edith was delighted! If there was one thing Edith loved, it was a mystery, a puzzle to be solved (her forays into investigative journalism were a testament to that) and who knows, maybe there was a story hidden in there somewhere?  
As the train rolled north, Edith closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. She had a project, she was determined to find out who this 'Sir Philip and Lady Anne Strallan' were…


End file.
